Cattywampus

For my daughter's 15th birthday this year, she and four friends went to Build-a-Bear Workshop. A working theory of why she decided upon this seemingly regressive celebration is that it perhaps reminded her of simpler, more innocent times when she went to school in person, was mask-free, and lived in a country where the president was able to correctly use polysyllabic words. 

Or perhaps she wanted her friends to express their personalities by choosing an animal and clothing that reflected their hobbies and sense of style. 

Whatever the reason, the kids and their masks excitedly met at the local mall's store and decided upon the stuffed animals they wanted. Among the two boys and three girls in attendance, the choices included bunnies with Steelers and Capitals uniforms, a bear with a baseball uniform, and a bear with a fedora and sunglasses. 

My daughter chose a monkey, dressed him in nothing but boxer briefs, and named him "Wilson" after an affectionate neighborhood cat we completely love. Wilson is inarguably adorable:

See how cute Wilson and his
underpants are?

And speaking of harkening back to a simpler time, it made me nostalgic to see her hugging Wilson all day after she brought him home, just like she'd done with her stuffed animals when she was much younger. She kept him close until evening, then went to bed with Wilson tucked under her arm. 

All was good and teeth-achingly sweet until the next morning, when she woke up and found Wilson on the bed next to her like this:

Um. This is not quite as cute, Wilson.

She pulled his briefs back up - and the next morning found him the same way again. Now, every morning, she dutifully puts his boxer briefs back in place and every morning, she rediscovers him with his underpants around his ankles. 

A new part of our morning routine is my daughter matter-of-factly bringing Wilson into my room and humorlessly showing me his underpants around his ankles. Every morning, this makes me silent laugh until I cry. 

Note: Some internet research shows there is a drink called a "Dirty Monkey" - perhaps this is more rampant than we know?

Other note: When I shared the Wilson situation with my friend, Lisa, she determined that "Keep your pants on, Wilson" should be the new response to someone's impatience

And yet another note: Friend, Amy, suggested it may be helpful to coin an additional response based on recent events - that being, "Keep your pants on, Toobin."

I wonder if there's a drink called a "Dirty Legal Analyst"?

UPDATE: Witnessed yesterday, and possibly (probably?) explaining the displaced underpants:

Apologies for the victim shaming,

-Brutalism